


Knife's edge

by colorcoded



Category: Soul Calibur
Genre: Dom/sub, Knifeplay, M/M, Masochism, POV Outsider, Vercci is a weapons nerd, unwilling voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23885185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colorcoded/pseuds/colorcoded
Summary: If one is paying close enough attention, one begins to notice some odd things about Vercci and the bodyguard who is always at his side. If one paystooclose attention, though, well, that can be dangerous.
Relationships: Vercci/Voldo (Soul Calibur)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7
Collections: Minigame: Round 1





	Knife's edge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Piinutbutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piinutbutter/gifts).



> This is a bit rushed at the end so I apologize for that, but I really loved these prompts and wanted to write something for these two! (Note: The rushed ending was bothering me a bit so I ended up reworking it. And also retitling this piece too. I apologize for any confusion.)

The carriage pulled up next to Vercci's main manor as dusk was falling. The bodyguard stepped out first—a strapping lad, six foot or nearly so. Remarkably thin, but from the looks of it, his limbs were mostly sinew. He had a relentlessly straight posture that made full use of his height, and he always wore at least one dagger on his belt, though the particular dagger seemed to change each day, no doubt drawn from Vercci's infamously extensive collection.

Vercci himself was next. This was the man who, four days ago, had managed to secure a very desirable, very lucrative contract with a Florentine nobleman, a contract which Antonio's family had also been vying for. Their own messenger, a cousin of Antonio's, had mysteriously died en route to the meeting. Nothing could be proven, of course, but it was surely foul play and it demanded a proportional response. And so Antonio's uncle had instructed him to tail the rival merchant and find out anything he could—Vercci's daily routine, people he associated with, vulnerabilities in Vercci's security. There had to be a response, to signal to Vercci that pulling such tricks would not be a cost-free action, but it was always good to be careful in executing such a response.

The merchant and bodyguard entered the manor together. From the observations Antonio had made over the past few days, Vercci had other men he regularly relied on, but his bodyguard seemed to never leave his side. Voldo, he was called, and he had quite the reputation as well, said to be quite deadly with a sword or any other weapon, and completely lacking in emotions. Antonio wasn't sure where exactly Vercci had found such an otherworldly bodyguard, but the effect of keeping him by his side at all times was clear. Even moreso to Antonio who, over the past few days, had begun to notice some details, like how Voldo walked carefully so that he was never in front of his master, how he never seemed to speak at all, not just in meetings, or how Voldo's dress often featured elements like collars and bindings and locks—all things indicating control and discipline. A sort of complete control that few men could bear and even fewer could command. It was a subtle effect, but it seemed to Antonio intentionally done in order to signal that Vercci was in control—no doubt useful in negotiations.

But still, the meticulous attention to detail seemed obsessive, even a bit unhinged. Antonio had only noted all these things because it was his job to notice. Surely the effect it had was so small as to not be worth it.

In the house, lamps were lit, and there was a brief bustle of activity as servants moved around the house. But their work did not last long. As Antonio expected, the few servants quietly left the manor to go back to their own homes, including a pair of guards who patrolled the grounds while Vercci was out. He watched them leave from the front gate and waited for half an hour more as the house settled down into quiet and the lights were put out in the lower floor.

Now was his chance to get a closer look at the house and grounds. Pacing around the house—careful to avoid the side with the lit-up room on the upper floor—he could get a sense of how big it was, and how many rooms it contained. As far as the interiors went, Antonio tried squinting through a few windows, but there was not much he could see in the dim moonlight. A kitchen and then a couple of sitting rooms, perhaps. But at least he also was less visible, especially given his all-black attire. Behind the house there were a couple of storehouses. He would have loved to see what was inside, but they were locked and in any case, he wasn't going to risk opening a door that might creak loudly. The area behind the house also contained a small pond and a path to a rear gate. Interesting. It would be useful to see where it exited. Antonio squinted in the dark at the line of trees behind the wall—

—and almost screamed when something—someone—in the dark grabbed his arm. He had heard nothing: not the swinging of a door, not footfalls, nothing except the chirping of crickets. But his arm was being yanked and then he was face to face with the bodyguard, Voldo. Moonlight gleamed off the surface of a wicked-looking three-pronged knife, and Antonio stammered, then cringed when Voldo raised the blade, eyes clenched shut, waiting for the strike.

"Voldo!" A voice rang out from a window on the second floor, cutting and authoritative.

Antonio and Voldo immediately turned toward the sound. The other occupant of the house stood in an unlit room on the upper floor. "Bring him to me," Vercci said simply and then disappeared into the darkness.

Voldo sheathed his knife without a word, the forked blades folding inward somehow, turning the cruel weapon back into an ordinary-looking dagger. Voldo grabbed Antonio by the arm, pulled him up to his feet and pushed him forward into the manor. The ground floor was in darkness and so there was not much Antonio could make out other than the glint of panes of glass. To their left was a set of stairs lit by some light on the upper floor. These he and Voldo climbed, coming out into a hallway lined with doors, all closed save for one.

Voldo pushed the door fully open and flung Antonio forward. A plush rug cushioned his fall. Vercci sat in a chair next to a small table, hands clasped over a knee, one foot bouncing idly.

"You were right, my dear boy," Vercci said to Voldo, who had taken his place at Vercci's side, kneeling on the ground. "You caught our pesky tail—well done." The merchant then fixed his eyes on Antonio. Antonio gulped. He hadn't been as subtle as he thought he was.

Vercci studied him for a moment longer and then said, "I don't know you. What were you doing in my yard, hm?"

Antonio tried to come up with a plausible lie but only ran into dead ends. Say he was interested in working for Vercci? It wasn't at all convincing. Lost something? They both knew that was stupid. "I—I was just... curious..." Antonio stammered for lack of anything better to say.

"Hm," Vercci said, unconvinced. "Check him."

Voldo stood and walked over to him, digging through the pockets of his trousers, patting the sides of his jerkin and his hose. Once finished, the guard stepped back and shook his head at Vercci.

"Good," Vercci said, "you're not a thief, at least. Who do you work for?"

Antonio opened and closed his mouth, wondering what to say. He ought not say his family name so readily... but Vercci seemed like the type that would get the information he wanted, with pain if necessary. Antonio opened his mouth again, hesitating, wondering if he ought to just be honest about the Iacobatis' intention to avenge the death of their man.

Before he'd finished deliberating, though, Vercci seemed to lose interest. "No matter, I suppose I'll find out eventually," he said, standing up from his chair. He walked over to Antonio and leaned down. "I'm more interested in this," he said, reaching over to unsheathe the sword at Antonio's hip.

Vercci held the sword in his hand, examining the handle and testing its weight. "Made locally by Vincentio," he concluded, testing the sharpness of the blade with his thumb. "That's very common." He turned to his bodyguard who had once again returned to his kneeling position. "It's not very special, but I would like to test it against you. You've been so good, after all. What say you, Voldo?"

Voldo only bowed his head—a nod, perhaps? Or just resignation? Silently, the servant stood and began to unbutton his doublet, discarding it and his shirt and belt on the floor before crossing over to the large bed that took up most of the right side of the room. Now that Voldo was bare-chested and nearer, Antonio realized with shock that the rumors were wrong: the silent bodyguard was not some kind of emotionless golem. At this very moment, the man was trembling ever so slightly. Was it fear, or anticipation? Antonio did not know, only that the emotion must have been an intense one to move the body so.

Long ropes hung from the top of the posts of the bed. Voldo took one cord in each hand and wrapped them several times around the wrist and palm before gripping the rope tight in his fingers. He knelt in front of the bed, arms above his head, as Vercci approached him slowly, the tip of his sword dancing from one point to another before it settled on the left shoulder. He pressed the tip cruelly inward until Voldo let out a sharp hiss of pain. Antonio watched in horror as Vercci tortured his own servant, wondering what kind of horrible fate might be intended for him—

—and then the hiss became a low moan.

Oh God, it was pleasure after all. Antonio watched as the bead of blood became a bright red stripe running straight from Voldo's shoulder to his waist. And the bodyguard continued to tremble.

In Vercci's hand, the tip of Antonio's blade once again floated across Voldo's body to select its next target. It decided on the flesh on the side of the rib. Vercci drew the sword back slowly, slicing skin as he did so. Voldo gasped, muscles straining against the ropes.

When the tension had gone out of the man's muscles, Vercci reached forward to cup Voldo's face in his hand, a thumb running along the side of his cheek. At the touch, a whine came from Voldo's throat, laden with so much longing and desire that Antonio felt his own cock twitch with arousal. An unwanted distraction from what Antonio's main concern was at the moment, which was getting out of this damn house alive. To do that, though, he needed to understand what was happening—and he did _not_ understand at all what was happening. All he knew was that he was frightened—scared of the wordless bodyguard, and perhaps even more scared of the man to whom he seemed to bend so willingly.

"This weapon is your reward," Vercci was saying to Voldo. "Each cut, a reminder of how well you serve me." Antonio's sword seemed so natural in his hands as he made another nick over Voldo's collarbone.

The way Vercci spoke, it was as if he forgotten Antonio's presence—or maybe he was treating him as if he were already dead. That did not bode well. He had to get out, he knew. With hindsight, it had been very, very stupid to enter Vercci's manor. Fortunately for him, Vercci had left Antonio's arms and legs free, and the merchant seemed preoccupied, at least for the moment. Moving as slowly and smoothly as he could, Antonio brought himself to a crouch and began to inch backward toward the door.

"You there," Vercci suddenly said, "little intruder."

Antonio froze in place. His best option, it seemed, was to talk, to beg forgiveness. "Signore," he said, "I didn't intend any harm. I was wrong to intrude. I will—I will leave and not bother you again."

Vercci did not answer; instead, he only nodded to Voldo, who unwound the ropes from his arms and stood, rubbing at the red marks on his skin that the bindings had left. Vercci himself walked over to the small table on the other side of the room and sat down once again in his chair. Antonio watched him, his stomach churning with anxiety. The merchant's face was impossible to read.

When Vercci finally spoke, his voice was cold as ice. "I dislike being followed around, but intruding upon my property? That I do not tolerate."

Antonio should have expected that. He should have known from the start that Vercci was that kind of person, the type who would not take trespassing lightly, and the type who always found trespassers. He should have known.

Vercci gave a command and then, impossibly fast, Voldo was there, a hand around Antonio's neck and light flashing off the trio of blades in his other hand.

Antonio only prayed to God that it was quick. Voldo granted his wish.


End file.
